Wed
I have a huge mental block on shipping these two with pretty much anyone else, so this one was hard. And I'm sorry if it disappoints as a consequence, anon!
Thanks to D for helping me figure out how to make this work(ish).
"I see you are getting married," she spoke from the shadows, knowing he wouldn't want to see his estranged wife on what could be his happiest day.
It should be his happiest day, because that's how marriages are supposed to work – never mind that he's her husband, damn it, never mind that the thought of him married to some nameless, faceless woman fills her with such rage that she wants to claw his eyes out, slam him into the wall, kiss that stupid confused expression off his face –
He should be happy, but though there had been uncomplicated joy on his face before she'd spoken, now there's only bafflement, etching the lines – new, born in the long months and bloody days that have passed since she left and returned, and the look is so familiar she feels the heart she was certain was dead stutter – deeper as he frowns. "What are you talking about – I am married, as you should well recall – or did you forget about your husband during your time in England?"
"Then who –?" she takes a step forward almost involuntarily, and the tightness in her voice is giving way to an echoing confusion, and she thinks of the letter that had found its way across the sea to her and thinks she just might kill the man who'd sent it, a little … once she's done drinking in the sight in front of her.
"Porthos," and he's shaking his head, almost laughing, almost smiling, closing the distance between them, and Anne decides that maybe she'll spare the other Musketeer after all; it would be rude to kill a man on his wedding day.